The Daily Register - Harrisburg, IL
Finding the sacred in everyday life
What my husband’s depression means for the rest of us
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Marketta Gregory never meant to be a columnist. \x34I trained to be a newspaper reporter -- one who tried to her best to be objective. I covered religion for a few years and felt like it was the best job a curious woman like me could ever have. ...
Simply Faithful
Marketta Gregory never meant to be a columnist. I trained to be a newspaper reporter -- one who tried to her best to be objective. I covered religion for a few years and felt like it was the best job a curious woman like me could ever have. Every day I got to listen as people told me about the things that were most important to them, the things that were sacred. But the newspaper industry was changing and few papers could afford to have an army of speciality reporters. So, I moved to cover the suburbs where, as luck would have it, they have plenty of religion, too. Eventually, children came into the picture. One by birth and another two months later by foster care/adoption. I struggled to chase breaking news and be home at a decent hour, so I made the move to what we journalists call the dark side: I took a job in public relations. (Don't worry. I work for a great non-profit, so it's not dark at all.) When I gave my notice at the Rochester (NY) Democrat and Chronicle, the executive editor asked me to consider writing a column on a freelance basis. She didn't want the newspaper to lose touch with its religious sources, and she still wanted consistent faith coverage. I was terrified. It took me about 10 months to get back to her with a solid plan and some sample columns. And so it began, this journey of opening up my heart to strangers.
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By simplyfaithful
Aug. 4, 2013 5:16 p.m.

Can I tell you something about living with someone with depression? Can you draw your chair closer so I can whisper?
When one family member battles depression it becomes a battle for everyone else, too.
My husband isnít cranky or blue. He isnít even a glass-half-empty guy. But he does have bad days where dishes donít get done and laundry doesnít get put away. Where itís hard to pull himself out of bed. Where he fusses and starts a fight before we see his family for the holidays. Where he just doesnít have the energy for the fun day we had planned.
It makes the regular roller coaster of life have even more highs and lows, more tight curves where you feel slammed against the side of the coaster. And sometimes it makes it hard to catch your breath.
We show up late to events and appointments. We miss church. We limit the number of activities through the week Ė just to give us more margin, a chance to catch up if we need it.
Itís hard on all of us, but weíre all on this ride together. Brian is doing what he can. Heís learning more about the illness, getting treatment and changing years of habits. And the rest of us?
We love him.
We love him in his brokenness just as he loves us in our brokenness.
Dealing with depression or cancer or diabetes is tough but thatís what love is made for. It wasnít meant to sell greeting cards, it was meant to greet us in our time of greatest need.
When my daddy was dying of heart failure in a hospital room, Brian drove 1,200 miles to be with me and we had only been dating three weeks. And when we took foster parent classes and they told us all the behavioral challenges we might expect, I asked Brian if he was sure he wanted to do this because I had been the one pushing for adoption. His answer: God tells us to take care of the widows and the orphans, and he doesnít say to do it only if itís easy.
Is your chair still close?
This battle that weíre fighting? Itís OK. Love wins.

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